


Miles: Meeting Mummy

by lyricalsoul



Series: Miles to Keep [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Miles to Keep, Mummy's views are not mine, No I do not feel that way about hyphenated last names, homophobic implications, mystrade, now with a disclaimer, shifting pov's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mummy visits; things do not go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles: Meeting Mummy

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. Thank you all who read and support. I appreciate you all.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. This version of Mummy is not all that progressive in her thinking. Her views on life, parenting, gays, etc in no way reflect mine.

“You’re going to spoil him rotten, Gregory.”

I look up from the paper I’ve been trying to read for the past hour to see Helene “Mummy” Holmes standing in the doorway of my study, arms folded across her chest, looking at me sternly. “Helene… how lovely to see you. I’d get up, but he’s got about fifteen minutes of nap time left. We’re trying to get him on a decent schedule.” I put a hand on Miles’ head, and rub him gently. “Besides, he’s comfy.”

She moves into the room gracefully, posture perfect. She’s a looker – tall, somehow managing to be both slender and curvy, with an angular face, high cheekbones and the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. On first glance, Sherlock favours her, but I think Mycroft got his odd handsomeness from her, right down to the chilly smile. “Of course he is, but you’re ruining him for your nanny, who won’t have time to lie about with a baby on her chest.”

Refusing to rise to the bait- it’s early, and there’ll be plenty of bait to choose from throughout her visit- I offer my most charming smile. “He’s only been here for a day, Helene… I don’t think it will hurt to bond with him, and make him feel secure in his new home. Besides, the nanny won’t have any other duties than to care for Miles, so I’m sure she can spare a few minutes to hold him. So far, he’s a good baby.”

“So far.” She favours me with a chilly smile, and seats herself in the worn recliner opposite the sofa with a tiny bit of disdain that she doesn’t quite manage to hide. “I wouldn’t want to presume to tell you your business with your own child. But as the mother of two sons, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that babies who are constantly coddled grow up to be needy and whiny. I didn’t hold my sons all that much, and look how they turned out. Self-sufficient and quite independent. Especially your husband.”

I cough to cover the laugh that comes up before I can stop it. Sherlock is as needy and whiny as they come, and my husband, as much as I love him, is a control freak who loves to play power games. But that’s part his charm as far as Helene is concerned. “Right. I’ll take that up with Mycroft.” That’s what I always say when she starts in, even though I have no plans to discuss anything with Mycroft.

“Please do.” She leans forward, giving Miles a thorough once over. “He’s a beautiful baby, Greg. My boys… Lord knows I loved them at first sight, but they were absolutely hideous little creatures. Poor Sherly looked like a spider monkey, and Pooh-“

“Mummy!” Mycroft enters the room, cheeks flushed, but still managing to look at her disapprovingly. “I’ve asked you not to call me by that hideous nickname in company.”

I hold the paper up to my face, and try not to laugh. That Mycroft Holmes, the British Government, the man who has The Queen on speed dial gets called ‘Pooh’ by his mum tickles me to no end. And it never gets old.

“ ** _Pooh_** ,” Helene continues, completely ignoring him, “was equally awful. Born stomach first, and had tufts of ginger hair. Jaundiced and round as a barrel. My husband – god rest his soul – was sure he belonged to the stable lad. Poor little Mycroft doomed from the start, saddled with his great-grandfather’s name and his nose, and being so round and yellow, he looked just like Winnie the Pooh. We thought he’d never grow into his nose! We considered surgery, but Siger was adamant that it would turn out to be distinguished. It’s still a long, honking thing, but he manages to walk so gracefully – we would spend hours having him walk about with a book on his head - you hardly mind it. Sherlock is always hunching and fidgeting, where Pooh is such a graceful man.  And thank goodness his hair darkened to a lovely chestnut. Never could comb Sherlock’s hair… all those curls, just like Aunt Boise, who never took any pride whatsoever in her appearance. You’re looking well, dear son.”

Mycroft comes over and kisses her on both cheeks, obviously following her monologue with ease. “As are you. What brings you by? We’re not having guests over for another two weeks..”

“After you rang yesterday, I couldn’t resist coming straightaway to see your darling baby,” she says sweetly. “Besides that, Pooh, I have it on good authority that the one and only Jean-Claude is coming over to show you his drawings for the nursery. I wanted to observe.”

“You’ll not be allowed to do anything if you insist on embarrassing me by using that dreadful nickname.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, Greg doesn’t mind. You’re married and shouldn’t have secrets. I’m sure you know he sucked his thumb until he was eleven-“

“Eight and a half,” I correct, frowning at Mycroft.

“-and still occasionally does,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “But only after particularly gruesome cases. Isn’t that right, Greg?”

“Mummy…” Mycroft is annoyed and exasperated. “Please.”

“You always were secretive. When you were four-“

Mycroft throws me an apologetic look, then says, “Oh, Miles is waking. Splendid. Perfect timing, Mummy… right, Gregory?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, barely managing not to roll my eyes. I give the baby a gentle nudge. Hopefully, he won’t turn into a serial killer because he was never allowed to finish napping, but the cause is sufficient. Miles kicks his legs out in protest, but thankfully begins the slow wake-up process without crying. A true Lestrade. I remove the dummy from his mouth, and he flails a hand at me. Poor lad.

At the tiny movement, Mycroft quickly moves to my side, and gently lifts the baby from my chest. He moves him back and forth for a few moments, waiting for Miles to come fully awake. “Hello, son… did you have a good nap?” He turns to Helene. “Mummy, meet your grandson, Miles Gregory Holmes-Lestrade. Miles, this is your grandmother.” He sounds so proud, I can’t help but smile. “He’s like his father in that he must do a series of contortions before he gives you his full attention after a nap. Well, unless there’s a crime, then he’s up like a shot.”

Helene peers over Mycroft’s shoulder and smiles. “Oh, he is beautiful... big for his age, and very alert. And such a lovely name. Not at all pretentious or silly, like some of the children have nowadays, like Diesel or Excelsior. What kind of parent gives their children strange names?”

I wisely let that pass with a shrug.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Gregory,” she goes on, “but my boys have family names. No one could possibly have a family name like Blossom  or Jermajesty, can they? Miles Gregory is classy and fits him perfectly. Though… you do know that the hyphenated last name will automatically peg him as having gay parents?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I murmur to no one in particular. Five fucking minutes in, and I’m already about to tear out my hair. Must be a Helene-visit record.

“Using a dummy will make his teeth protrude, you know,” she continues. “And do keep him out of the color red. It only emphasizes his dark colouring. Speaking of which…Do we know anything about the mother? Is she, ah…Indian?”

“Mummy!” Mycroft hisses, his outrage rolling off him in waves. I don’t think I’ve seen him like this before. (Even Miles gives a little squeak.) “If you’re going to be rude…”

“It is not rude to want to know my grandchild’s lineage.” She looks at me expectantly. “Gregory?”

I shrug, take a deep breath, and say, “The ‘mother’ is my ex-wife, which I’m sure Mycroft told you; perhaps you deleted the information?”

“It was most likely deleted as unimportant.” She lifts and drops her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “In retrospect, I should have been more attentive. Where is your ex-wife from?”

“Dorset," I say tightly. “By way of Sicily. And maybe Sri Lanka. I’m not really sure.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with a convincing story as to-“

“Helene,” I cut in. “Let’s not do this, hm?”

She gives me a look. “I’m only curious, Greg. It can’t hurt to know what leaves are on the family tree.”

“Well, my father is French; mum’s from Cornwall. I could go back further if you’re interested…I think my great-great grandmother may have been a tart in the Roman Empire!”

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s tone is sharp, and holds a bit of a warning. “Please.”

“Please?” I reply just as sharply. I don’t like to be warned in my own home. “Please? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“I assure you, I am not.” He turns to his mother. “Cease, Mummy. For all our sakes.”

“Oh, Pooh,” Helene sighs, and that damned sigh conveys disappointment, with just a bit of disgust. Uniquely designed to make Mycroft feel like shit. “You’ll never be able to pass him off as your biological son with his olive skin.”

“Okay,” I say, hauling myself off the sofa. “That’s about enough of that. Helene, if you’re going to stay, if you’re going to be part of our son’s life, there’s not going to be any of that kind of talk. He’s our son. If anyone has a problem with his skin colour, or the fact that he doesn’t look like Mycroft, too bad. I doubt there are people out there who think one of us carried the baby.”

The tips of Mycroft’s ears are beet red. If his mum knew him, she’d know he was about to explode. “Mummy-“

“I’ve got it,” I cut in. “Helene, you can stay and be civil, or you can leave. Your choice.” I fold my arms across my chest and wait.

She gives me that irritating Holmes stare – the intense one that makes criminals confess, and makes her sons do her bidding.

“That doesn’t even work on me when Mycroft does it in bed,” I say in my best Detective Inspector tone.

“Gregory!” Mycroft is practically apoplectic at this point. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, Mycroft, and I’m sorry to be so blunt in front of your mum. But our son, our rules. I’m not going to let anyone hurt him, judge him, or make him feel unwanted. He’s had enough of that already. So, your mum needs to choose a side.”

“Of course,” Helene says after a long moment of staring daggers at Mycroft. “Apologies, Pooh, er, Mycroft. And to you, Gregory, and Miles. I overstepped my bounds.”

“You did,” I agree. “Now be a good gran and check his nappy for me. It’ll have a blue stripe if he’s wet. I’m going to get his bottle, and you can get to know him over his lunch.”

***

“Greg is rather excitable, don’t you think?” Mummy looks down at the baby again, and seats herself on the sofa. “I didn’t mean to upset him, Pooh. Really.” She pulls the leg of the nappy aside and looks. “Dry, thank goodness. I haven’t changed a baby in ages. How are you handling it so far?”

“It’s rather simple once one gets the hang of it.” I smile reassuringly. She never really means any harm; she’s just like Sherlock in that she has no filter, and says whatever comes to mind. “Just go easy, please.”

“I was merely stating the facts, Mycroft. However, he is a sweet boy. And he looks so much like Greg… he’ll break a few hearts without a steady hand to guide him.”

“Between us, I’m certain he’ll grow up to be a fine, upstanding gentleman.”

“Ha! I’ll bet his father sowed more than his share of wild oats in his day… and rather recently, seeing as how you now have living, breathing proof. And since apples fall underneath trees, Miles will most likely be the same.”

“Nurture may well win out over nature,” I say. “Being aloof and charming does have its advantages.”

“The Iceman,” she laughs. “One date with your intrepid Detective Inspector, and you all but melted. Married, and now a baby. You were such a taciturn child, and a solemn adolescent. I despaired that you would ever be happy in the traditional sense. Mind you, I know that manipulations, schemes, and covert operations for the Crown are your life’s blood, but it is a pleasure to have someone waiting for you at the end of the day, isn’t it?”

Only years of training keep me from blushing. “It can be. There are some drawbacks.”

“To what?” Gregory asks, handing Mummy the bottle, and a cloth. “He’ll hold it on his own if you place his hands. He’s quite smart for such a tiny chap.”

“Of course,” Mummy says while positioning Miles on her lap. She wraps his hands around the bottle, and settles back on the sofa as he grips it and guides the bottle clumsily to his mouth. “Brilliant boy. Left handed. He’ll most likely get his first tooth in about… ah… three weeks or so, judging by the way he’s holding his mouth. I was telling Mycroft that you must be a pleasure to come home to. He was speaking of drawbacks to that.”

It takes a moment for Gregory to catch up to the quicksilver workings of my mother’s mind, but years of working with Sherlock have given him an advantage. “Oh?” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well, not so much drawbacks as they are ah…”I shrug at being caught out. “Well.”

“Drawbacks like having a nice hot bath ready when you return from dealing with the delegation from Spain? Or how about-“

“Yes, yes,” I cut in. “Point taken. Apologies.”

“Accepted.”

Mummy chuckles. “Your father, god rest, was horrible at romance, so I learned not to expect it. Of course there were jewels at the birth of each of my boys, and the obligatory holiday gifts, but there was never a time that I could come home to a hot anything, let alone a bath.”

“I do appreciate those things, Mummy,” I say in my own defence.

“Well, you’ll get better at it as time passes. You two didn’t know each other all that well and now here you are with a baby,” she continues. “And you, Gregory, went back to your ex-wife… twice, correct?”

“Helene,” Gregory sighs, holding the bridge of his nose, “we’ve already had the ‘you two shouldn’t have married so quickly’ talk last year. At the party after the ceremony. During your toast to our happiness.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and added a baby to the madness.” She looks at Miles, then up at Mycroft. “Have you considered the security risks? Not just a husband to kidnap, but now a baby. Very dangerous.”

Gregory stiffens, and opens his mouth to refute, but I beat him to the punch. “Security is more than adequate. And it helps that Gregory happens to spend the bulk of his day surrounded by officers of the law.” I hate that there’s no actual way to stop her once she starts, but if I don’t at least make some semblance of an attempt to curtail her loose tongue, Gregory will have my head, and I’ll be sleeping in the guest room for the next week, as I did after our post-wedding trip. “Mummy, don’t borrow trouble.”

“I’m just being the voice of reason,” she says with that same irritating smile I’ve grown weary of seeing on my brother’s face. “You’re both very busy men, and I don’t think you’ve thought this through at all. A baby is one thing, but he’s going to grow, and ask questions, and get into mischief, and I can hardly see that Gregory will be able to leave a crime scene to make sure he’s done his homework. Maybe an early retirement, since there’s no chance you’ll promote to chief inspector now.”

“Mummy, please.” I can feel the tension headache creeping up my neck, and see the same in Gregory. “We’ll be fine.”

“Well, he’s here now, and there’s nothing to be done for it.” She gives Gregory a piercing look, then shakes her head. “It’s just that… well, I don’t want you to get too attached to the baby, Mycroft. I’d be surprised if you two weren’t divorced in six months. He’ll run off with the nanny, and you’ll be all alone again.”

“The fuck!” Gregory gives me a look that could melt steel.” That’s about enough of that.” He walks over and takes Miles from Mummy’s lap. Miles, who does not like to be disturbed or jostled whilst eating, gets fussy. “I know, son…” Gregory rocks him gently, settling his hands back on the bottle, then turning to Mummy. “It won’t do for _you_ to get attached, seeing that this will be the last time you see him. Mycroft… we’ll be back later, when your mother leaves.”

“No,” I say firmly. “Mummy, that was rude and uncalled for. I’d like you to go now.”

She looks stunned, but only momentarily. She regains her composure, and gives me a cool look.  “Mycroft, you know I’m speaking the truth. You work, he works… with your jobs, you can’t successfully stay married, and raise a child. It’s foolish to attempt it.”

“No one asked for your thoughts on the matter,” Gregory says with that growl usually reserved for incompetent officers. “I know you like to think of yourself as a keen observer of human nature, but you don’t know shit about how determined your son can be once he makes up his mind to do something. He went to great lengths to bring Miles here, and is rather determined to raise him with me. That’s the end of it.” He lets out his breath in a huff. “Now, Helene, you have a choice to make, since you didn’t hear me the first time. You can stay and be Miles’ doting grandma who spoils him rotten, or you can see him grow up via John’s blog. I’ll give you a bit to think about it. Mycroft, it’s Miles’ bath time – I don’t want him to look a mess when his pretentious room decorator gets here. Let me know what your mum decides.”

I want to follow him, but instead, I watch him go, then turn to my mother. “I can’t believe you, Mummy.”

“Well-“

“No,” I cut in. “No more of this. Gregory is right. If you don’t think we’ll make it, if you’re so sure that we’ll be divorced, then there isn’t a need for you to come around anymore. Feel free to leave. And since you appear to be in a snit, I don’t think it is prudent that you’re here when Jean-Claude arrives. You can let yourself out. We’ll talk later.” I turn and walk away.

***

“I’m sorry.”

I look up from the wardrobe to see Mycroft leaning against the doorjamb. “Not your fault. Your mother… I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now.”

“I knew it would be bad, but this…” He pushes away from the door, and sits on the bed next to the baby. “I’m sorry, son. Your grandmother is a… tit.”

“Mycroft!” I’m surprised at his words.

“Apologies.” He shakes his head. “That will be his first word.”

“He won’t remember.” I hold up a blue romper. “How’s this?”

“Gregory…”

“Don’t, Mycroft. I’m not some visiting diplomat that you have to manage. I’m your husband, I’m pissed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” I put the blue romper back because it’s ugly, and pull out a yellow one with ducks on the front. Perfect. “And don’t you even try to justify that ‘running off with the nanny’ shite. I can see the fucking wheels turning – saw it as soon as she said it.” The matching yellow socks and a hat with a duck bill on the front join the romper. “You and your brother are ace at observing, but your mother is the queen of it. She may not be as into the little details like that you ate yoghurt on a Tuesday with a soup spoon, but she sure as hell knows your weaknesses, and does her best to exploit them.” I look at him. “I’m not going to have her doing that to Miles.”

“All right.” He’s got that sour look on his face, and I know he wants to say more, but he won’t. “Miles was already bathed today. I doubt that he’s in need of another.”

“What are you mad about?”

“I’m not angry,” he says quietly, which means he is very angry. “If you have an issue with Jean-Claude coming, you should have made your displeasure known earlier.”

“This isn’t about Jean-Claude. This is about your mother coming into our house, making us… well me, feel like something she stepped in.”

“I can’t change my mother, Gregory.”

“Well, I sure as hell can change my exposure to her.”

“Fine.”

The doorbell rings before I can respond to that bit of snippiness. “Oh, great. Jean-Claude is here. I’ll bring the baby down as soon as I’m done dressing him. Wouldn’t want him to look too dark in his red.”

“That’s quite idiotic,” he snaps, then huffs out a breath. “I won’t argue with you. Whatever you dress him in will be fine. Mummy is most likely going to stay.” He leans down and plants a kiss on Miles’ stomach. “Sweet boy.” Then he’s off the bed and heading for the door.

“Son, we’ve got problems.”

Miles gurgles and stuffs his fist in his mouth.

 

***

“Goodnight, son.” I lay a sleeping Miles down in his cot, and turn on the night light. I check that the baby monitor is on, and that there are no choking hazards lurking about in his bed, then head for our bedroom.

Mycroft is already in bed, sitting against the headboard, glasses on, files in his lap, tapping away on his mobile. He glances up when I come in the bedroom, then goes back to his work.

I kick off my slippers and ease into bed with a groan.

“You should have soaked.”

“Showered a bit ago.”

“Well, you’ve had a long day. Work, Mummy, Jean-Claude. Which went quite well, by the way. Not at all what you expected, was it?”

“Not at all,” I admit grudgingly. “Jean-Claude is a pretentious prick, but seeing that he’s only about five feet tall, wears that horrid wig… thing, and looks at the world through opera glasses, I understand the attitude. He is quite good at what he does because those drawings were the best I’ve laid eyes on. Miles seemed to take to him all right, so I suppose that's something. And that he shot down your mum on her roman pillars and peacock feathers idea was priceless. Major points for that – peacock feathers give me the creeps.”

“So you’ve said. You thought he was going to do something over the top and ostentatious, didn’t you?”

“Yes, given that you can be well over the top when the mood strikes you.” I smile. “I love the design. It’s simple and plain, and I think any lad will love to have big, fluffy clouds over his bed. The hidden drawers and space to grow is just perfect. He’ll love the ladder to the reading space when he gets older. I already love it. Looks like a good place to hide out, and have a bit of privacy.”

“So, which of us won the bet?”

“You cheated, speaking to Jean-Claude in Mandarin. You know your mum doesn’t speak it, which made her huffy. When she stormed out, cursing you in Latin, and…”

“Greek,” he supplies.

“Greek,” I continue, “I thought I’d bust my gut. I think Jean-Claude should come over every time your mum does. He out diva’d your mom by a mile.”

Mycroft shrugs. “His hourly rate is astronomical. Perhaps we can enlist Sherlock’s aid instead.”

“Hell of a choice.”

He taps on his mobile for a long moment, and then sighs. “I’d prefer Sherlock, as long as John comes along. He’s a good voice of reason for my intransigent brother.”

“True,” I nod, settling under the blankets. “I wish I’d had a wine rack in my room when I was younger. Would have never left it.”

“You would have become a heavy drinker by your teens.” He frowns. “You think it’s excessive? I think it’s convenient for us… having his bottles and such at hand.”

“No, not excessive… it’s decadent, having a personal wine chiller in the nursery. The three telly’s…? That’s excessive. It will look like a newsroom.”

“No need for you to forgo your favourite football team whilst caring for him, Gregory. Jean-Claude will make sure they’re tastefully discreet.”

“One large telly would be discreet. You want three. I may not be a Holmes, but I’m not stupid. You’re adding the others for surveillance.” I huff out a breath. “You could just say.”

“I find that to ‘just say’ leads to inane conversations such as this one. Besides, it is my duty as his father to keep watch over him, and what goes on in his room.”

“Right.” I snap off my lamp, and turn away from him. “’night.”

“Hm.” He goes back to tapping on his mobile. After a few minutes, I hear the files and phone being locked in the bedside drawer. He dims the lamp on his side (he can’t sleep in total darkness) and burrows under the blankets.

For a long while, there’s only the sound of us both breathing. Then he moves, snugging up against my back. His hand settles on my hip. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his lips grazing my neck. “So very sorry.”

“It’s all right.” I put a hand over his for a minute, then move his hand to rest on my stomach. “We’ll be okay.”

“I meant for my mother. She’s… I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything that you have to apologize for.” I sigh. “I just realized I don’t like your mum.”

“You determined that when you first met her.”

“But she’s your mum, so I have to deal with her. “

“And you don’t like doing that because it reminds you too much of work.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I love you, though. I don’t love anyone at work.”

“I should hope not.” He presses another kiss to my neck. “I love you as well. However, I do not wish to be the cause of your unhappiness.”

“I’m not unhappy.” I roll over to face him, wrapping myself around him. “I don’t regret marrying you, and plan on being with you until… well, until two and two is three. I want to raise Miles with you – I’m scared as hell that I may mess it up, but I’m willing to try to because you are. It won’t be easy – your mom is right about that.”

“She doesn’t know how resilient you are, how stubborn you can be.”

“She thinks I’m going to run off with the nanny. And so do you, with your nanny cam in the nursery. I’m not stupid.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Mycroft, you can’t possibly think that I’d do something like that, that I’d treat our marriage like some show on telly, running off with the nanny. I only went back to Tessa because I thought I owed it to her to try to make it work. I was stupid, and we both knew it. The second time, you made me leave. What was I supposed to do? And how long am I going to pay for my mistakes? I can’t function with you thinking I’m going to leave.”

“It isn’t my intention to make you feel as though you’ve something to pay for, Gregory. I no longer harbour the notion that you’re going to leave. Well… I have entertained the notion on several occasions, but I do not agree with my mother’s nanny theory, simply because I refuse to hire a nanny with any qualities that you would desire.”

“Stacking the deck in your favour? How Mycroftian of you. And since you’re always telling me not to dwell on things that have yet to happen, I don’t know why we’re discussing a nanny we don’t even have.”

“Nor do I.” His hand drifts around to my stomach, and he holds me tight. “I’m not...” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I have a hard time… well, I find it difficult to allow a relationship to occupy a significant portion of my mind. But, here you are, and now there’s also Miles. And because I’ve allowed this… ah, weakness, for lack of a better word, I find it increasingly difficult to believe that it won’t all just come crashing down around me.”

“My-“

He presses a finger to my lips. “No. But imagine growing up in a household such as mine. Mummy never looked at Father’s death as such; she took it as abandonment, and always stressed that it could, and would happen to us. The Holmes curse, she called it. Sharp as razors, unlucky in love. I never considered that I would find someone, and even more so, someone like you. And that you would actually stay.”

I nip at his finger, and he moves it away. “To my credit, I haven’t left you since we married.”

“No,” he chuckles. “A whole year.”

“And we got Miles out of the whole deal.”

“Weak argument, but true, nonetheless.”

“I just don’t want Helene to have that kind of power over Miles… making him second guess himself, and treating him like an adult. He’s a baby, and should be allowed to be cuddled and held, tickled, read to, and made to feel loved. Look at you… can’t be next to me for more than a few minutes before you’ve got your hands on me. And that’s not about sex. It’s about needing to connect to someone in a way your mum didn’t. She thinks she did you a favour, that she made you tough and independent, but look at you both – Sherlock is never more than two steps away from John, and you’re my personal octopus.”

He looks horrified at that. “I… well, I certainly am more tactile, since-“

I kiss him to shut him up. “Not complaining,” I whisper as I pull away. “It says a lot about how you feel about me. Not so much the Iceman when you’re with me, and even less with Miles. I love that you’re… adaptable.”

“Mummy was right about one thing, though. I now have two liabilities for my enemies to exploit.”

“You’ll have to up the security level, then. Grade double-oh seven, or whatever you sneaky government types call it. And we can pick a nanny from a pool of retired or inactive Sixes. Sherlock can look over candidates for us.”

“You do know that my observational and deductive skills far surpass those Sherlock possesses?”

“Yes, I do. And you’re less of a prick about it. But no one will be good enough for you. Sherlock will show less bias.”

“Hmph.” He nudges me. “On your stomach.”

I frown, and roll over. “No foreplay?”

“Shush.” He sits up and straddles my hips. “Massage.”

“Oh.”

His hands sweep under my shirt, pressing firmly into the bunched muscles across my shoulders. “Mmm….” I moan. His hands are exquisite, knowing exactly where to touch, how firm to touch, and how long to touch. “You’re perfect at this. If you ever… mmm… need a different career, you could make a fortune doing this.”

“Stop talking and relax.”

“Yes.” I breathe in and out deeply, letting the soothing feel of Mycroft’s hands lull him. “Feels so good. Thank you.”

His thumbs knead the spot just above my arse. “My pleasure.”

Something in the way he says it makes me go hard. “Is it?”

“Always.” His lips follow his hands, and he begins planting firm kisses across my back, and down my spine. “Such a tasty treat, your skin. Soft and alluring.”

“The loofah.”

“And good genes,” he murmurs, pressing his hips forward, letting me feel him. “Arousing.”

“Oh, you do play dirty.” I shift, and he lifts so I can roll over. “Perfect,” I moan, as he settles back on top of me. I press my hips forward and smile at the hardness I encounter through my thin pants. “Reason number two why I can’t leave you. Where else will I find a man with such a large, lovely cock? They don’t grow on trees, you know.”

“Size queen.”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“Yes.” He rolls his hips upwards. “Tell me, Detective Inspector Lestrade… what do I want?”

I look up at him, taking in the hitch in his breathing, and the wide pupils. “Something rough and fast, yeah?”

He licks his lips and nods.

“I’ll need to be on top then.” I grab his hips and roll us to the side, then over so I’m looking down at him. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He blushes and flashes a shy smile. “It pleases me that you think so. But if you could get on with it…?”

“Could be faster if you didn’t wear so many damn clothes to bed.” I lift up on my arms. “Off with ‘em.”

With a sigh, he wriggles out of his pyjama bottoms and pants, and kicks them to the end of the bed. “What if there’s a fire?”

“Your old-fashioned pyjamas with old-fashioned buttons aren’t helpful for this kind of fire. We have a baby now – quickies are going to be the norm, if my sister was telling the truth.”

“So, stop talking, and get to it.”

“Your wish.” I let my hips fall against his, then dip my head down to capture his lips. His hands come up over my shoulders, then down my back to cup my arse, tugging me into rolling rhythm.

He pulls away from the kiss with a wet smack, and moans as I pick up the pace. “I want you inside me… Christ, Gregory, please.”

“No time for that – I don’t have any patience left.” I unhook his legs from my waist, and slide down the length of his body. “Try this instead.” I fasten my lips on the tip of his cock, and brace myself as he bucks up into my mouth.

“Gregory…” His hands tighten in my hair. “Take it… take it all…”

“Mm…” I open my mouth and engulf the entire length in one, loud, lewd slurp.

“OH!”

I tap his arse, prodding him to move. He moves his hips upward, cautiously at first, allowing me to get ready for the ride. After a few minutes of leisurely moving, he picks up the pace. I relax my throat and stretch my lips open as wide as I can to accommodate him.

“Perfect, just perfect,” he moans. “Almost there…”

I suck harder, and reach a hand down to cup his bollocks.

“Oh, Gregory, that is the…god!” His hips move upward hard, and then he’s coming. I pull back, and settle my lips around the crown of his cock, managing to catch most of his release. A bit spills down my throat as I move away, but I make no move to wipe it away, since I know the sight of it will drive him wild.

“Gregory,” he pants. “Up here. Please.”

“Lazy git.”

Mycroft sits up, but before he can move, the baby monitor lights up as Miles begins to whimper.

I laugh and flop back on the bed. “Cock-blocked.”

“Damn.” Mycroft kneels up, and groans. “Good thing we didn’t actually have intercourse.”

“Lay back down, I’ll go. You’re sex-drunk - might mistake him for a turkey and put him in the oven.”

“Why would I do something so ghoulish?” he asks as I shoulder into my t-shirt and head out into the hallway.

“Because you’re a berk!” I call out as I enter the den.

Miles is furiously kicking his legs, crying. “What is it, Miles? Lost your dummy?” I put the dummy in his mouth, and pat him gently. “Go back to sleep, sweet boy.”

I pat him until he settles back into a steady sleep, then ease out of the room, back to the bedroom. Mycroft has his pyjamas back on, and has re-made the bed, fluffed the pillows, and turned on the ceiling fan. “I thought my sister was exaggerating. Nothing like a crying baby to throw ice on your hard-on. I think I’m scarred for life. Never had a baby cry in the middle of sex.”

“Nor have I,” Mycroft says with a nod. “I assume we’re done for night?”

“He’ll be up in a few hours, wanting to eat again. I’ll handle it.”

“I meant you.” He eyes my crotch with raised eyebrows.

“Oh. We can pick it up in the morning, if you’re of a mind.”

“Always.” He smiles and pats the space next to him. “Come back to bed. The least I can do is continue your massage.”

“That would be nice.” I scoot in next to him, face down. “We’ll make it work, Mycroft.”

“I have no doubt,” he replies, straddling my hips again. “Your back is knotted like a sailor’s rope.”

“I can feel that. But you’re doing really well. Feels great.”

“You do,” he sighs, and his lips chase his hands along my back. “I love you, Gregory Lestrade. Thank you for loving me in turn.”

I smile, and relax under his skilled hands. “Love you, too.” I wait a beat, then add, “Pooh.”

****

 

 

 

 

 


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